To The Grave
by catsncritters
Summary: JPSS SLASH Albus knows Severus harbors a very strong dislike of the Potters, but he doesn't know just how deep it goes.


To The Grave

**Author**: Adrienne Wolter (catsncritters).  
**Summary**: Albus knows Severus harbors a very strong dislike of the Potters, but he doesn't know just how deep it goes.  
**Rating**: PG13  
**Warnings**: SLASH, between Severus Snape and James Potter. If you don't know what slash is, you probably don't want to read this. If you do, and like it, I'd appreciate feedback. Possibly somewhat angsty-seeming for those who aren't particularly into angst (::coughs:: like myself). One-sided.  
**Reviews**: appreciated--but not required. It's always nice to know if I have readers, though.  
**Archive**: This is archived here, and on my own site (adriennewolterDOTcom/fanfiction). If you'd like to archive elsewhere, ask first.  
**Noted**: This is one-shot. I dunno, this pairing just doesn't appeal to me as much as HPSS. James was something of a git, at least the way I see him. (And I haven't come to this conclusion just because of book five, even though it certainly helped. With how much Severus complains about James even after he's dead... ordinary pranking just wouldn't do it. ::shakes head::) Not fluff, and one-sided. Woot.

.---.

"Ow–"

Not moving from his seat on the roof of the Astronomy tower, Severus Snape suppressed a sigh and raised an eyebrow.

He'd been coming out here every night for several weeks. He needed to be away from the other Slytherins, away from anyone and everyone else. The primary reason for his escapes was not to break rules, but simply to escape in a figurative sense of the word–he very much needed a time and place to think, and nighttimes in the sixth year Slytherin dormitories where snoring could be heard definitely was neither. And this place, the roof of the Astronomy tower, was the perfect place to escape _to_–the hard shingles beneath him kept him rooted to reality, the stars let him think, and the ever-present danger of being able to kill himself quickly if need arise was certainly quite alluring.

Life was so very overrated.

"Come to torment me, Potter? Perhaps throw me off the roof while you're at it?"

Silence greeted his questions, as he expected. His senses weren't ones to fail him, but at least if he had been mistaken, there was no one up here to learn of his talking to nothing. He'd heard the stumble though–there was definitely someone behind him, and the only person who would come up to join him on the roof, the only person who would dare, was James Potter.

The very same who had given him the reputation that terrified first and second years to the point that they hid whenever he walked up the hallways.

Sigh.

He felt the shingles vibrate slightly next to him, and then _he_ appeared out of nothing, pulling off the silvery cloak Severus had come to despise.

"How'd you know it was me?"

He sniffed in distaste, producing a rather odd scoffing noise. "I'd be surprised if the Ravenclaws two floors below didn't hear you trip over the shingles back there." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James look away, but missing the appreciative smile that had spread over his face. "Honestly, why are you out here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

His gaze, which had been directed very strongly at the lake, went quickly to scan James' face for any sign of trickery. So many times before James had said something and done quite the opposite, that searching was almost second nature to him. When he saw none, he sighed. "Where are your minions?"

"Not exactly a term one would normally use when speaking of a Gryffindor," was James' lame retort. "They're asleep."

Yes, Gryffindors never were ones to elaborate.

Several seconds of nothingness. "What do you wish to rub in my face now, Potter? I'd like to have a few minutes to myself after you depart before the sun comes up." He could hear, very distinctly, the sound of James' breathing against the quiet night breeze. It almost startled him–he was so used to only hearing his own breathing, a soft inhale and a soft exhale, monitored carefully so they were even. James' breaths were more rough and less measured, though far from really _uneven_.

"Look, Snape, despite what you may believe, I didn't intend to indebt you to me by saving your Slytherin skin. I was as surprised as you were when Dumbledore told us about that." He frowned, a crease forming on his forehead, brown eyes flitting over his own face. "I'd prefer not to have ties to you, actually."

"The pleasure is just as much my own," Severus responded, looking down at the ground, at least ten floors below. He'd never bothered to count.

"Why do you come out here every night?"

It was a soft question, but James didn't bother to hide the exasperation in his voice. Severus didn't bother looking over at him. As much as he was loathe to admit it, the boy had matured somewhat since their last year. It was a mixed blessing; he could no longer insult the Gryffindor without him understanding what was being said about him, but a repeat fiasco of the one after OWLs in their previous year was much less likely now, as well. That entire debacle... it seemed so distant when he had finally come to realize just how deep the Marauders' bonds of friendship went. They had studied for years to become animagi just to secretly accompany Lupin on full moons; that was certainly something admirable, even though he still loathed all four of them. So stuck in thinking of the past he was, that he hardly noticed the raven-haired boy next to him trying to get his attention until there was a hand on his shoulder.

Then he noticed.

He flinched out of the touch, away, and as a result, slipped on the shingles. He felt them shift beneath him in one surprised jerk of his balance, from leaning into the slope of the roof to away from it. It was purely accidental that he rolled off of the tower headfirst, but he did; and he was flying downward so fast that he didn't realize what had happened until James had summoned him back onto the roof.

Dizzy, he looked up at where he guessed the Gryffindor was and a question came to his lips immediately. "Why did you do that?"

"Why the hell did you jump away when I touched you?"

And they stared at one another, both panting from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"How did you know I've been up here every night?" It had been several minutes that they sat, facing away from one another, and Severus had been recounting the conversation, trying to make sense of it.

"Hmm?" James glanced over at him. "Ah. I could tell."

"That didn't answer my question and you know it."

A shrug. "What would you do with an answer anyway?"

"Satisfy my curiosity, perhaps?"

"Never." Sarcasm. It didn't suit James at all. He was too–well, he certainly was an arrogant bastard still, but it wasn't as pronounced as in previous years. Too goody-goody perhaps. "Hey, now you owe me two lives."

He glared.

"Hey, whoa, next time I'll _let_ you tumble down to your untimely death."

"Lovely. Thank you."

A strange emotion seemed to pass over James' features, and his eyes widened the tiniest bit, seriousness settling itself in his expression. "You don't–you don't come up here to consider jumping off the edge, do you?"

Severus wondered briefly how prude it would be to answer the boy with silence, then dismissed the thought. He couldn't bring himself to tell James no, though.

"Severus–"

He flinched again, looking away for the first time in several minutes. "Don't–don't call me that."

"What? Why?"

"Leave it."

"But–"

"_Leave it_, Potter."

And again, the only sounds were of considerably calmer breathing and the wind rustling the trees in the distant forest. It went on for so long that had he not been peeking quick looks out of the corner of his eye at his companion–somehow the word didn't sound right even in the given situation–he would've thought that he'd stood up and left. Finally, he could no longer stand it, sitting less than a metre from him and saying nothing. "You never told me what you came to say." They were dismissive words, as if he was telling James to have his say and go. Looking back, he essentially was.

"I just wanted to apologize to you, since Sirius obviously isn't going to."

He sighed. "You've saved my life twice, and you've bound me into saving your own skin twice as well. You've shut your friends up whenever they talk about _it_. And now you bloody come to apologize in the place of Black. Stop acting the hero, Potter. I already know how _worthless_ I am next to you, I don't need such constant reminding." And he felt a small flare of anger that James had the audacity to look startled at his words.

"Severus, I've never meant to imply–"

The Slytherin gritted his teeth. "I told you to stop calling me that."

"By your first name?"

"Yes. Please refrain from doing so. My surname shall suffice."

"You aren't worthless, whoever the hell you are."

James seemed to take the silence that followed his phrase like a slap, and he stared at Severus, eyes begging for a response. He obviously had not meant to let that particular phrase be the one to slip to his tongue, and was now trying to save face.

Pride was important, but so was his own curiosity. "What?"

"If you didn't hear it the first time, I'm not repeating it."

"What do you propose makes me worth anything next to you, Potter?"

"Er–" He certainly looked uncomfortable. Points to the Slytherin, then. Salazar would be proud. "Well. You're–eh–smart and all–"

He shifted so that he and the Gryffindor were face to face, centimeters apart, and hissed his reply. "You and I both know that whatever you were about to let slip, it wasn't that." James swallowed nervously. "Come clean, Potter."

James sat back, so his knees were a rather effective shield between himself and the other boy. "Not until you tell me why you flinched and tripped off the edge of the damned roof when I touched your shoulder."

"Not until you tell me how you knew about my being up here every night."

"Not until you tell me why you think you're worthless."

"Must this pattern continue forever, Potter?" Severus sneered.

"If it must," James countered, shrugging. Such ease Gryffindors could go about doing whatever they wished with. "Are you going to answer?"

"Why you seem to think I consider myself worthless?" James nodded. "You apparently cannot detect sarcasm. I do not consider myself anything less than a gifted student."

"Modest, too," the other boy piped up.

Severus growled half-heartedly. "Now, how did you _know_?"

"I have a map that tells me where everyone in the castle is," James admitted easily. He obviously did not expect Severus to believe him, and he didn't. But that was overlooked for the time being, his desire to know James' meanings overwhelming the need to bicker that particular answer out. "Why did you–"

"I don't like being touched."

The look of pity that James gave him might've been a ploy to buy himself more time, but it certainly looked convincing. He didn't want anyone's pity. He wasn't to be on display, to be given the sympathy of others. "Are you sure that–"

"Your turn."

"No, wait. You–did the same when I called you Severus too–" He did not wither the least under the look that was intended to do just that. "Severus–" He bit his lip hesitantly.

"Potter–"

And then James tried to bolt.

It would have been easy enough for him, had Severus not developed alarmingly quick reflexes from a near six years of being the prime target of the Marauder's chronic pranking. He knew what the raven-haired boy intended to do probably even before _he_ knew, and so lunged at him as he was ducking under the protection of the cloak.

He didn't settle for simply catching the boy's sneakers, either–he could slip away and he knew this could be the only time he could ever get the answer out of James. For once they'd actually had a civil conversation, for all of several minutes–

Severus ripped the cloak away, and both parties were startled at the realization that they were, once again, centimeters apart. And James simply couldn't pull away this time. Severus snarled at him, his smaller figure barely able to hold down the muscular Quidditch player. "I want the answer!"

"I am truly sorry for this, Severus," James lamented briefly, then sent his own knee upwards into Severus' groin. In one quick moment, he was no longer pinned down. But Severus realized, after having squirmed in a few seconds' pain, that the boy hadn't left.

"What now?" he gasped, obviously expecting a second blow.

"I didn't want you to accidentally roll off the edge again," he admitted sheepishly, looking away without turning his head.

"Why do you suddenly care so bloody damn much about my well-being, Potter?"

Eyes refocused on him. "You want to know?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course I do. Why would I bother to ask, otherwise?"

And then, before he knew what was happening, he was the one being pinned down.

He didn't try to struggle. He'd been through this before. Yet... that had been more than a year ago, at least. And then... the last time James had punched him immediately, wands forgotten. Black had been in the background then, egging him on even as Professor McGonagall rushed to the scene, half in hysterics.

"I care about you because I can't help it," James told him, an icy wave of emotion suddenly lighting up his eyes to a point that they no longer seemed dull and brown. "Don't think I enjoy it. And don't think it's sudden. I disgust myself." Severus squirmed again at the unpleasant sensation of the other boy's lips brushing his own. Wasn't this the touch he tried so desperately avoid? The touch of others scared him, how one cold have any power to make another feel a stir of emotions.

And here he was, and he hated it as much as the boy on top of him claimed to.

James had continued to speak. "I know I don't want you. And yet I do." Another brush of lips. Severus suppressed a whimper; he wouldn't go looking weaker than he already had. James certainly would make one nasty git of a Slytherin.

"Then why are you letting yourself do... this?"

A sad smile. "You asked."

"You're smiling–"

Another touch of lips, and the hand that wasn't on his neck, choking him to keep him subdued, tangled itself in his hair. He tried to turn his head, but James pressed the hand down harder, to prove his point.

"Don't ask for things you don't want, Severus."

"I di–"

And this time a full kiss, and he didn't want this, but he did–what? He wanted to throw himself off the roof again just to get away. It wasn't the kind of answer he'd been looking for. It–he didn't need to satisfy his curiosity any longer. A plead to stop. It was entirely one-sided, and yet Severus' eyes fell closed after half a minute and he was ever-so-carefully trying to give some pressure back. Don't let it end.

But good things always end sooner than intended.

James looked triumphant. It was a look he so dreaded seeing that the expression alone made him flinch again. Such an intense emotion danced in the other boy's eyes that the Slytherin could feel himself pulling further into himself, even though he didn't move.

"You see, Severus, I couldn't tell anyone. I can't tell them that I've been watching you for years. So I pushed you away. When people assume that there's hate between us, they don't begin to question. And I don't want them to."

A noise died in Severus' throat.

"What's that?" And stupidly, even for a Gryffindor, he loosened the grip long enough to allow Severus to have some physical means of getting him off. Even with his Seeker's instincts, he hadn't even seen the punch that was thrown at his nose, even if he heard Severus' whispered "You bastard."

Maybe he didn't bother avoiding it because he knew that he deserved it.

They never spoke of that night again. Severus had no doubts that James hadn't stopped his feelings because of his reaction in any way; the Gryffindor stubbornness tended to blind people. But he did not allow himself to be anywhere alone with him long enough for the boy to make any more advances on him for the rest of their sixth and seventh years.

When James died, Severus' only regret was that he still had two lives to save that would be passed onto the wizarding world's newest hero. He enjoyed the hate that was felt towards him from the son, enjoyed tormenting that hate out of him, enjoyed baiting him and still being the only one ever in control.

Albus knew that he hated James, but he didn't know the half of it.

And Severus knew that that was the way both he and James intended to keep it, to the grave.


End file.
